Red and Purple
by Lovat
Summary: A series of interlinking 'one-shots' focused on Raphael and Donatello's growing relationship. Contains t-cest.
1. Feeling

**A/N:** This story started out as more of a series of one-shots that fit together. There is no real conflict, no climax. Each "chapter" is its own story: a series of stories. But isn't that what life is?

This series is about Raphael and Donatello, most specifically, and their changing relationship from brothers to something more romantic. So...if turtlecest and homosexuality offends you, just stop now and save yourself the trouble.

Oh, and I own nothing, etc.

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**Feeling**

Raphael hated that he felt the way he did. It tore at him. Made him feel sick and disgusting and no better than the thugs whose skulls he bashed open every night. But he couldn't help it. Not with Donnie lying so willingly in his arms.

It had started off innocently; it didn't take much to make him feel ashamed. He'd had a nightmare. Nothing fancy. Nothing new. He had nightmares all the time, especially after they all met the Shredder and his evil Foot henchmen. But something had been different—he just couldn't hope to remember what. All he knew was that he awoke in a cold sweat and couldn't stand to be alone. So he'd swallowed his pride and went into Don's room. But not right away; he'd taken time to think of which brother to turn to.

He was afraid of Mikey's room—had stepped on a toy last time he was in there and landed Don with two patients; one turtle and one train, and later a third when Raph got his hands on Mikey. Besides, Raph could only imagine what Mike might say. Raph could swallow some of his pride—not _all_ of it.

Leo led to similar thoughts. Not only would he no doubt be attacked as soon as he walked in, but he couldn't help but _see_ the look he thought Leo might give him. A look that could undoubtedly, piss him off or offend him to the point of an argument. Which, Raph knew from experience, did nothing but subtract from group moral and possibly land Donnie with even more work: fixing broken objects he destroyed in anger. Or, perhaps, fixing broken turtles when things really got rough. Besides, he couldn't swallow nearly as much pride as going to _Leo_ would force him to. Showing up to the Fearless Leader's room just wasn't a good idea.

Don was safest, even if Raph wasn't quite sure how he's react. He was understanding, Raph knew. He wouldn't hold anything against him.

So that was how Raphael found himself peeking into Donnie's room. Surprisingly, the computer was off for once and their resident genius was in bed, blanket draped over his shell. Raphael hesitated for a second, thrown off by the change in Donnie's sleeping pattern, and debated going back to his own room. He didn't want to bug Donnie, after all. Be overall, he gave in to his badly repressed desires. Creeping forward, he'd grabbed Don's chair and wheeled it closer to the sleeping turtle's bed, plastron to the back of it and arms around it, head laid uncomfortably on the top. He was just lonely—didn't need his company to be awake and aware, so long as it was company—and he contented himself with the idea of watching Don sleep until he was tired enough to go back to bed.

In retrospect, Raph thought maybe _that_ was when it started. Regardless, he'd sat there for a while, eyes closed and mind drifting…when suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and a worried face inches from his.

"Raph?" The face had whispered, and he'd jerked back until he fell from the chair, sais out just before he landed on his shell. The voice sighed in either exasperation or amusement. Possibly both. He couldn't tell.

"Don?" His brother offered him a hand.

"What were you doing, sleeping in my chair?"

"I wasn't sleepin'." Raph had allowed himself to be helped up, and had quickly placed sais back into his belt and righted the chair he'd knocked over.

"You were snoring," Don helpfully pointed out, and Raph rolled his shoulders experimentally. Yeah, he'd definitely fallen asleep. Long enough to irritate his shoulder muscles, at least.

"How long was I out?" Don shrugged in reply.

"It's 3AM." So about thirty minutes, Raph thought.

"Ah, right. Sorry 'bout that. I'll to back ta' bed now." And so he turned to head out, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"What were you doing in here, anyway?" Raph froze. What could he tell him? That he was creepily watching him sleep? With a defeated sigh that was so unlike his personality and very nature, he figured the truth would get him in the least amount of trouble.

"I had a nightmare."

Raph had thought Mikey would say something about it, and that Leo would give him a look. Perhaps they would have done just that. But Don…Don did both. Very barely laughing, he'd raised an eye ridge and smiled, as if in teasing disbelief.

"The Great Raphael?" Raph sighed, his expectations crushed, and shrugged, once again moving as if to leave.

"Pretty stupid, right?" The arm on his shoulder stopped him again.

"No. It's not." It tugged, and Don sat down on his unmade bed. "It's more comfortable than my chair," he elaborated, and moved his arm away. So Raphael lay with Donatello and couldn't help but notice that Donnie seemed to be really awake for 3AM, and that as hard as he clutched his brother to him, Don managed to cling even tighter. Raph could have asked if he had nightmares, too. He could have wondered aloud why Don was being so touchy-feely when he usually was not. But he hadn't thought he needed to. For a genius, Donnie could be easy to read.

And so, it had started.

* * *

Raphael hadn't gone back to Donatello's room—not for a while, at least. He wasn't exactly nightmare free, but the ones he got were normal and safe, and he didn't feel so alone in the darkness. Donnie hadn't said anything about that night—he'd awoken in bed without Raphael and hadn't even bothered to share a secret smile or anything the next morning. But maybe that was because Raphael had hidden his face in his cereal.

Whatever the case, things went back to the relative normal the four mutant teenagers and their mutant father had gratefully accumulated. Leo bossed things around, Donnie fixed things, Mikey broke things, Splinter gave lectures and meditated, Casey and April stopped by to bring the lair into chaos, and Raph got angry at things and left to kick gang shell. The only difference being what he got angry over.

He was noticing things. Fairly innocent things. Like the way Don would rub his eyes when tired. Or the way he'd beam when he finished a project. Normal things. Brotherly things. He was just giving Don more attention—that was all. And that wasn't why he was angry. It was the fact that he wanted to fall asleep again with arms wrapped around him. But he didn't dare go back to Don's room. Swallowing his pride didn't happen often, and he'd done his share for the month, after all.

Luckily, or _un_luckily, for him, he hadn't needed to. About three weeks after the first night, Donnie appeared at Raph's door, cautiously toeing his way inside. Raph was awake, but Don didn't seem to notice as he stared at the hammock that doubled as a bed in Raph's world, as if figuring out how, exactly, he was going to get in. Judging by the tiny sigh and the way he shuffled back, he'd decided he couldn't. But Raph stopped him with a curious call of his name. A call that had Donnie freeze and look back sheepishly.

"Nightmare," was all he said. All he needed to say, really. Raph patted the hammock and moved over as much as he dared. And thus started The Great Hammock Battle. Raph and Don lost, after a valiant effort, and lay sprawled out on the floor below their fierce enemy.

"My room?" Don had croaked, and Raph nodded with a muffled curse.

And so Raphael found himself lying, once again, in Donnie's room, with Donnie's arms around him. He could, and would, have stopped there, but every night after that; Don somehow managed to wander into Raph's room. So Raph would sleep in Don's. It stopped being about the nightmares. Raph hadn't had one in weeks. But he eventually stopped waiting for Don to call him into his room, and would just wait until Leo, Mikey, and Splinter went to bed before heading to Donnie's room.

That was when he started noticing the other things. The less innocent things. Things like how Don would bite his lip, or his pencil when concentrating. Like how he would stretch after spending a few hours in his lab. Like how he'd look when he'd rub sweat and oil off his face after working in the garage. Things like the way his face would twist when Mike annoyed him or Leo told him something he didn't want to hear. The way he'd say Raph's name when he needed help. He noticed it all, and it killed him.

Raphael knew things were changing between him and Don. Maybe Donnie didn't notice—in fact, Raph was pretty sure he didn't—but he knew they were. He knew for a fact that the ache in his heart was unnatural. He could just tell that the ninjas doing back flips in his stomach were only supposed to act up around a girl with huge breasts and a skirt just big enough to fit over her ass. He thought it only common sense that he wasn't allowed to smile as dorkily and shyly as he did at his brother. Nothing about his behavior was normal, and he knew it.

But with Donnie lying so willingly in his arms, it was easy to forget that it was a problem.


	2. Sentimentality

Sentimentality

"How do you know when you're in love?" Raphael stared, long and hard, at his brother. His very intelligent brother. His enigmatic brother. His…his…his _brother_. Brothers just didn't go to each other about stuff like that, did they? Raph couldn't remember them ever doing it before—and was grateful they hadn't. He was awkward, just looking at him. What did he expect him to say?

"What the shell're you askin' me fer?" His brother shrugged, and had the nerve to look down at his feet, as if embarrassed.

"You're the only one I thought I could ask." Raph stared, long and hard, at his brother. Until his brother thought it wise to elaborate.

"Well. You know Mikey. I doubt he's ever loved anything other than his comic books, video games, and food. If I asked him, he'd probably just laugh and tease me about it forever." Raphael nodded. He knew about Mike's sense of "humor" all too well.

"Still don't explain nothin'. There's still—"

"I couldn't ask Donnie, either." Just as Raph's mouth opened, Leo continued.

"He's so…analytical. Not that it's a bad thing. But I have a feeling asking him would lead to a discussion on the brain and psychological reasoning behind feelings. And then perhaps a biology lesson and tips on safe sex." Raph snorted. He went to talk again.

"And Splinter just isn't an option. I love our sensei, and I regard his opinion to be viewed with the highest honor, but, let's face it, no-one wants to go to their dad looking for love advice." Raph stared, long and hard, at his brother. His brother stared back at him, eyes unreadable, and tipped his head back. He had permission to speak again.

"Coulda' asked April. Or Casey. Or _somethin'_." Leo shook his head again, and sighed.

"No, I couldn't—"

"You ain't in love with one'a them, are ya'? 'Cause I think April'd be some tough competition, bro. 'Fraid to say you ain't as pretty as she is."

"Ha, ha," Leo replied. "I'm asking you seriously, Raph. I need advice. Are you going to give me any, or send your poor brother away?"

Raphael considered this. Really considered this. He still wasn't sure why Leo was going to _him_, of all people, for advice on love. Not when all he could really think about was _who_ the _shell_ their enigmatic, fearless leader had got his sights set on. Not when he pushed his emotions inside and behind a mask of anger. Where was the love in that? Where was the mushy shit Leo undoubtedly expected him to spew at him? Or, maybe that was it. Maybe Leo didn't want the mush. Maybe he just wanted the cold, hard facts. Raphael could give cold, hard facts.

"S'got nothin' ta' do with any of that flowery mush people usually go on about. S'just…wantin' to be around 'em. Wantin' to do stuff for 'em. Make 'em feel better when they're down. Wantin' to touch 'em when fists ain't involved and no-one's got hurt. S'when you get this tight feelin' in yer chest when they get hit and you dunno what happened to 'em. When you realize you don't care how ya' feel, so long as they stop frownin' and start smilin', 'cause just seein' 'em smile's enough to make ya' feel better." Raphael ran a hand over his face and let out a noise of disgust.

"Guess I'm gettin' mushy, too. Go ask someone else." Before he could leave, Leo stopped him, one hand on his shoulder.

"Raph."

Raphael grunted.

"I think you should tell him."

It wasn't until later, when Raphael stood, pacing, in his room, that he finally realized Leo wasn't in love with anybody. And, for just a brief flash of a moment, he considered getting revenge for that awkward discussion. But it was quickly gone. Replaced by something else. A sense of thankfulness, perhaps. Maybe now he'd work up the courage to initiate his own conversation on love. Mush be damned.


	3. Vehemence

Vehemence

Raph was a lot of things, but chicken wasn't one of them. Unfortunately for him, neither was eloquent or romantic.

He'd tried to do what Leo had said. _Really_ tried. Tried so hard, in fact, that he stayed awake a full night pacing back and forth, reciting nonsense aloud and scrapping it with a vicious shake of his head, a few mutters, and then a "Don, look, I—" that was undoubtedly followed by another idea that was doomed to be scrapped as well. It was all a vicious cycle.

After that night, Raph went back to the drawing board. Sure, he'd been all fired up and ready to go and spill his heart out after talking to Leo, but Leo was just like that. He could be motivational when he wanted to. But the motivation rarely lasted more than a few hours, usually less, and Raph had lost the spunk and the drive over a week ago, and still hadn't said anything. Leo had sent him curious, hopeful looks for a while, as if waiting for Raph to grin and give him a thumbs-up for his efforts, but Raph had always scowled and stormed off instead.

But he wasn't a chicken. No, that wasn't why he hadn't said anything. It was that he just wasn't eloquent or romantic. Something he _was_ was passionate, but having passion didn't count for much. He knew he could have all the feelings in the world, but if he couldn't voice them, they meant practically nothing. And what could he even say to someone with the brain power to build motorcycles, weapon-wielding trucks, operable submarines and countless other awesome things that left the rest of them gawking in amazement? What could he say that would impress someone like _Donatello_? What the shell did Raphael have to offer him? He was angry and rash and hotheaded. He was strong, yeah, but, then again, so was Leonardo and Michelangelo and Donatello himself, so what did it matter? Sure, he did know a little about repairs, and he knew enough first aid to get by, but it was nothing compared to Donnie. He couldn't help but feel a stab of inadequacy, just thinking about it.

And even if he _could_ bring himself to approach his brother, and _had_ something to offer him—maybe even knew a little about what he wanted to say—what good would it do him? He wasn't romantic; couldn't talk about flowers and hearts and mushy gobbly gook like in Splinter's soaps or Leo's books (even if he tried to hide it) or even Mikey's video games. And he knew Don wasn't some girl that needed wooing, but he couldn't help but feel it was needed. Didn't Don deserve a little romantic mush? Didn't people typically want that? What _did_ Donnie want, anyway?

Probably not his brother.

And that was another issue. One Raph tried not to think about, but undoubtedly did. Because even if Donnie didn't mind that he wasn't a genius or a great leader or someone with good humor; even if Don didn't care that he was awkward and the thought of Valentine's Day made him sick, it all really boiled down to one key argument that he couldn't even talk himself into thinking would be petty enough to be overlooked.

Don was his brother. Maybe not blood brother—he didn't know for sure if that was the case or not—but they'd grown up as brothers. Who was to say Donnie had ever even considered him? Surely he had pretty girls to think about, anyway.

And it was that—all of that, condensed into a flash of thought that lasted only about five seconds—that had Raphael stuttering and mumbling when asked why he'd knocked on Don's door.

"I'm not gonna bite, Raph," Don raised an eye ridge at the nervous look entering Raph's eye. He was stuttering again, rubbing at the lack of his neck, and shuffling his feet.

"Ya see, Don, I was just…Don, look, I…I mean." It was the same spiel he'd given two days ago; four days ago; seven days ago. And Raph knew it. Knew it well enough that he just gave up, like he did the last three times. "Ah, it's nothin'. Don't worry 'bout it." And Don frowned. Just like he did the last three times. Opened his mouth. Just like he did the last three times. And was interrupted. Just like he was the last three times.

"Really, Donnie. Jus' don't worry 'bout it." And then Raph left. Just like he did the last three times. Left to go and beat up a punching bag, or possibly some thug on the street, or maybe even Casey if he managed to look at him wrong.

But there was one thing that had changed, only Raph didn't know about it until after he'd effectively pummeled Casey into the ground and sidestepped April's accusatory glare and all too familiar hand-on-hip stance. And that thing; that wild card was Leo. Leo, the little punk, had watched him make a fool of himself.

"You call that a love confession?" He was just taunting Raphael now.

"So what if I do? It not up ta' yer standards?" Leo crossed his arms and tilted his head back; taking on that superior stance Raph hated so much. The stance Raph knew _Leo_ knew Raph hated so much.

"I'm starting to think my baby brother deserves better." It took Raph a lot of willpower not to snap. To spill all of his pent-up insecurities. 'Don't you get it,' he wanted to scream. 'Of course Don deserves better. Of _course_ he does!' But Raph, instead, clenched his hands into fists and pushed past his blue-masked brother.

"So why don't _you_ go an' spill _yer_ heart out, if ya' think yer better'an me and I'm not good enough." A hand stopped him. Raph spun around, eyes livid. Why was everyone _stopping_ him? That's all it ever seemed to be. Not a request, but a demand. A physical demand.

"Raph, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"So how _did_ ya' mean it?! I _know_ what ya' meant! I'm too stupid, too hotheaded. Too much of a coward, right? Too _sick_ 'cause I gotta be if I'm even thinkin' 'bout all this!" A second hand joined the first, and Raph noticed that Leo had a hand on a shoulder each, and was calmly looked into his eyes.

"Raphael. There's no pressure. If you don't want to tell him, you don't have to. But I don't think you're sick. And if _you_ do, I guess there's no point in pushing this any further." And then Leo was gone and Raph was left alone with his thoughts once again. His terrible, ugly thoughts.

Raphael stepped back until his shell hit the wall and then slid until he touched the ground, legs brought up to a quivering plastron, one hand pressed shakily to his mask.

Not a single tear fell.

But plenty soaked the material in front of his eyes.

Things went back to normal, once again. Normal under a sketchy definition, but normal nonetheless. Don stopped asking Raph about what he kept trying to tell him, and Leo stopped giving him those hopeful looks. Raph even stopped going to Donnie's room every night to sleep, and, after a while, Donnie stopped asking about that, too.

Things were okay, for a while. A month, at least. They went on their normal patrols, did their normal training with Splinter, and fought over the remote and videogame privileges. Like normal. But that normalcy was granted at a price: Raph's nightmares were back, and worse than ever. He awoke with his heart pounding more often than not and usually with bitter tears stinging his eyes.

Instead of going to Donnie's room, Raph would flee to the dojo or to the surface, to beat something—or, as it was in most cases, someone—up. But one night, instead of the flimsy normalcy Raph had been clinging to, he got a situation he hadn't been expecting: Don was waiting for him in front of the door to the lair. He had his shell to it, and was hunched over, as if he was staring at the ground. Raph had cautiously crept forward, waiting for some sort of lecture about leaving early in the morning, but had received none. Upon closer inspection, Raph had come to the conclusion that Donnie was asleep.

A fond smile stitched itself across his face, unbidden, and he couldn't help but just watch him for a moment before he brought the dozing turtle into his arms. It was awkward to carry one of his brothers. They were all relatively the same size and weight, though Don wasn't nearly so bulky, and the shell made any carrying stance difficult. But he managed to ease his deadweight brother onto his shell enough to get the sleepy turtle back to his room.

Once there, he'd deposited Don onto his bed and took time to tuck him in, meticulously easing the blanket over and around him. He tried to ignore the way his own hands would linger, or the way his eyes would get caught on Donnie's peaceful face.

When his fingers gently touched Don's cheek, he pulled away as if stung. Hands turned to fists, and Raphael quickly wheeled around and went to leave: to escape. He needed to get away. To make someone pay for the emotions plaguing his heart.

Fortunately for the sorry sap of the day, he was stopped. Not by a hand, but by a voice. A voice filled with sleep and confusion.

"Raphie?" Raph froze and peeked back over his shoulder. Not enough to get a good look, but enough to show Don he had his attention.

"What is it, Don?" His brother scooted over, easily messing up the perfect cocoon Raph had constructed for him, and patted the spot beside him.

It was an open invitation.

The next morning, Raph found himself unable to return to his sketchy normalcy. He'd awoken beside Donnie and had quickly fled; willing himself not to look too long, touch too much. He'd thought he could forget about it; push it back into his mind to be forcefully forgotten along with the feel of Donnie's skin and the slightly-strangled sound of his own name on Donnie's lips. But when Don had entered the kitchen looking and sounding much happier and better-rested than he had in a long time, it was hard for Raph to write the night away.

All they'd done was laid beside one another: hadn't even hardly touched, but it had made Donnie happy, and, even if he didn't want to admit it, it had made Raph feel the same. He was sick of forcing himself away from his brother. Sick of trying to forget and pretend. But he knew that was really all he could do. That, or confess.

The day after he lost his normalcy, the rest of the lair did, too.

It had started off well. He'd slept in Don's room a second night in a row, and had awoken in high spirits: the nightmares had gone away. But, where there was a happy Raphael, there was always a sneaky Michelangelo laying in wait to fix that. Sure enough, by the end of practice with Splinter and lunch, Mikey struck.

"I didn't do it!" Mikey loudly announced when Raph's eyes found his by chance. He signed in reply.

"Do what, Mikey?" He only hoped it was nothing he had to deal with. Or that Donnie had to clean up.

"Oh, _nothing_!" Mikey looked at him with that big sheepish grin on his face that usually meant Raph's day was about to take a turn for the worse. "It has absolutely _nothing_ to do with your Shell Cycle or anything!"

And thus, Raph's day took a turn for the worse.

_"__What_? Mike, you've got thirty seconds before I kick yer shell!" Livid, Raph advanced on his brother, who looked to be getting more and more nervous.

"Eep!" Mikey so eloquently replied. "But, don't you wanna save your bike, first?"

_"__Save_?" Raph growled through clenched teeth. "This ain't over!" Hands existing as fists, Raph fled to the garage to, hopefully, save his precious Shell Cycle.

He'd had a million images in his mind: The Shell Cycle left a broken mess. Wheels missing or slashed open. The handlebar torn off. Bits and pieces scratched and torn and precariously stuck together by a bit of scrap metal. He even imagined it as a pile of parts. But, worst of all, he couldn't help but picture it covered in bright pink paint. What he _hadn't _been expecting, however, was what he got. Which, he supposed, made sense in the way only anything relating to Mikey could.

His Shell Cycle was in perfect order. No pieces missing or added or damaged. And, best of all, there was no pink paint. In fact, it looked just the way it did when he'd parked it there last. Something wasn't right.

It was confirmed when Raph heard the telltale sounds of the door opening again, as well as heavy panting and a cry of "_Mikey_!" from whoever had decided to give him company.

"I thought I told you never to mess with the…Battle Shell." Donnie raised an eye ridge in Raphael's direction after concluding that Michelangelo was, in fact, not wrecking his precious truck.

"Raphael? Have you seen Mikey? I heard he was—"

"Oh, I seen Mikey. And I'm about ta see him again fer lyin' to me! Little punk was tryin' to distract me from somethin' else!" But as he advanced on the door, it was closed, as if the lift had been summoned to the lair. Raphael raised an eye ride in confusion.

"Think Mikey'd have tha nerve ta come in here with us after that?" Raph ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "What'm I sayin'. It's Mikey." Don crossed his arms and frowned when the lift didn't come back up.

"If that _is_ Mikey, I don't think he has any intention of coming up here."

"Whadda ya' sayin', Donnie?" Don sighed and ran a hand along the door, looking back at Raph with a troubled expression on his face.

"I'm saying: I think he managed to lock us in on this side." Raph stared at Don. Don looked back, shrugging to his question before he even managed to ask it. "Don't ask me how. There are things about this place I haven't figured out yet."

Raph shook his head, as if to clear it, and turned to go toward the other exit.

"Whateva'. We can still get ta tha surface and find a manhole or somethin'." Muttering under his breath about dead little brothers, Raph went to tug the warehouse door open…but to no avail. It was locked.

_"__Mikey_! That lil' _punk_!" Don sighed and advanced on his fuming brother.

"What'd Mikey do _now_?"

"He locked _this door_, too! What's up with that? Tha lock shouldn't be on tha _outside_." Raph pounded a hand on the door angrily, eyes sweeping over the rest of the garage for some sort of alternate exit.

"We could force our way out with the Battle Shell," Don suggested, a thoughtful hand on his chin, "but I'd need to build a new door, and I just don't have the metal for it right now. And if Mikey _is_ behind this, he'll at least come let us out soon enough. If not by himself, then Leo will probably ask questions until he does."

Raph sighed at Donnie's logic. Of course, he should have expected it. That was just how Don was. And right then he seemed to think his logical explanation was good enough, for he moved away from the door and wandered over to some mess he'd left the last time he was in the warehouse. Raph figured that if Don was cool and relaxed, he could be, too. Or, well. Try to be. Raph didn't really do cool and relaxed.

He couldn't help but wonder _what_ the little shell head had been thinking, though. Probably nothing, knowing Mikey, but there had to be _some_ explanation for what he'd done. He'd pissed Raph off and led him to the warehouse. Then he'd freaked Donnie out and led _him_ to the warehouse. The warehouse he'd locked on both sides. He'd led Raph and his not-quite-so-secret love interest into a relatively small room and locked them in there together for a questionable amount of time. Raph sighed in irritation. Of course that was it. It was so thoughtless and cliché: it _had_ to be Mikey. He'd probably overheard him and Leo talking. Or maybe _he'd_ talked to Leo. Surely he hadn't figured it out by himself.

A sudden surge of panic coursed through him, and questions bombarded his mind. Was he being too obvious? If Mikey could tell, Donnie was _sure_ to find out! Did Raph look at Don funny? Did he touch him too often? Did he smile in that lovey-dovey way he sometimes thought he felt himself slipping into? The thought left a trail of slimy horror down his back and under his shell.

Or maybe Leo _told_ him. But…Leo wouldn't betray him like that. Raph had made absolutely certain Leo wouldn't tell anyone. Especially Mikey: the big-mouth. No, Raph decided, Leo certainly wouldn't be _that_ thoughtless. But, regardless, Mikey knew. Raph knew he knew. And Raph also knew that this was some not-so-elaborate scheme concocted by the orange-masked turtle. A scheme he wasn't sure what to make of.

It had been over a month since he'd last tried to confess to Don. Leo had gradually stopped dragging Mikey away from the lair or trying to convince Splinter to go topside or to meditate. He'd stopped keeping Casey and April away when Raph finally brought up his confidence. Stopped leaving little encouraging hints or giving him those little nudges when Don was in his room alone. Ever since that last conversation they'd had about it.

Raph had tried not to think of confessing much, since then. He'd convinced himself it was a terrible idea. That Don could never feel the same. That what he felt was wrong and went against all he'd been taught. But occasionally, little deceptive thoughts would slip through. Thoughts that made him doubt his strict verdict that nothing could ever be. About how Don would give him shy smiles. Or how he'd ask Raph to go junkyard hopping with him. Or how he'd excitedly call Raph into his lab to check over the new designs and ideas for the Shell Cycle. Or the fact that _Leo_: the level-headed one had been the one to encourage him to say something.

But could he? Raph was brave to the point of stupidity at times, but he couldn't help but feel a paralyzing fear at the thought of spilling his feelings: exposing his heart completely to another being. He'd long ago realized that confessing: exposing himself, would leave him bare for Don to pass judgment. Judgment he'd never been sure he was ready for. He'd never had any of his brothers hurt him, not really. They'd never thought to, and had never been in much of a position to. But if he were to offer himself over to Donatello…it would be the first time he could really be denied or shot down by his family to the point of hurting and breaking. And that scared him.

"Raph?" Don's soft voice broke Raphael from his metal battle. He was looking over at the bulkier turtle with concern lighting his eyes. "If looks could kill, that wrench would be long gone by now, bro'."

"Donnie…" Was he ready to confess? Was he ready to give himself over for Donatello's judgment? When he turned his head to meet Don's gentle, caring and understanding eyes…he thought he was.

Don looked at him curiously; his eyes filled with an emotion Raph couldn't put his finger on. But it was too late to doubt and reconsider. His lips were already forming the words.

"Don. I love you."

Suddenly, the door to the outside world was opened, and a loudly cheering Mikey shattered the moment.

_"__Ha_! I _told_ you my plan would work, Leo!" But Raph tuned him out. His eyes were focused only on Donnie. Donnie, who was looking surprised, with wide eyes turned toward Mikey. As if he'd been caught doing something horrible.

The next moment, Raphael was gone, running from the garage and pushing roughly past Mikey, who stumbled and called after him. He didn't bother grabbing the Shell Cycle. Didn't bother pausing when Leo's voice joined Mikey's. Didn't bother looking back. He didn't need to. Don's eyes were permanently pressed into his thoughts.

He ran. Ran until his legs ached and his feet went numb. Ran until his lungs were charred from the fire that consumed them. Until his eyes could spill no more tears. He ran and ran and ran. But he could never escape that look.

He didn't know much about where he ended up: only that it was on the other side of the city. But considering the fact that he'd thought about fleeing to New Jersey during a moment of wild insecurity, that wasn't so bad. Could have been worse.

He eventually settled down on the tallest building he could find, behind a ledge that cast a large shadow. The moon was out by then, high in the sky, but Raph's ninja instincts pressed him to find somewhere to hide, somewhere to flee. Nowhere was safe, it told him. Enemies could be anywhere. But he forced himself to stay in the meager hiding spot he'd found. His body hurt and his heart ached, and he just didn't want to run any longer. Running helped, but not for long. And whenever he'd rest to catch his breath, the thoughts would catch up to him again and wrap around his heart, like a vice.

"Raph."

They were coming again. He could hear Don calling his name, like he had earlier.

"_Raph_."

The memories were insistent, pulling him down until his head was below water and he could do nothing but fight in vain against invisible bonds while his air supply was cut off and he was left to—

"Raph!"

Startled, Raphael picked his head up, turning wild eyes to Donatello, who walked towards him, bo at his back and bag slung across a shoulder, like usual. The only thing different about this Donatello was his eyes. They looked weary.

"It's a good thing you had your Shell Cell with you." Don remarked as he advanced. "I was able to track you that way." Raph couldn't help but wonder if he was having a dream. "I guess I shouldn't have told you that, though. Now I'll need to put some sort of chip under your skin, so you can't leave the Cell around and expect us not to find you. Especially if you plan on coming out this far very often." Raph stared at Don. Don ignored the look as he came closer and crouched down, eyes finally meeting Raph's.

"Don?" Raph couldn't help but notice how strangled his voice sounded. How desperate and needy and pathetic it sounded.

"Raph." To contrast, Don's voice was light and concerned and _gentle_, so godforsaken gentle that it nearly broke Raph's heart a second time.

"What tha shell're you doin' here, Brainiac? I thought—"

"You never did give me a chance to reply, bonehead." And then Don leaned over and kissed him, and for a moment, all the pain went away. The building they were seated on went away. The lair, the city itself. All the people. All of Raph's insecurities. The facts he'd used for months to justify and to attack his own feelings and thoughts. _Everything_ suddenly was no more. All but Donatello and the soft hands cupping his cheeks; the lips pressing against his.

For a moment, all Raph knew was Donnie. And he thought, pretty damn cheesily, that it was the best moment he'd ever had.


	4. Perception

**Perception**

**

* * *

**

"I could check if you want." Don had sent Raph such a proposal one day, seemingly out of the blue, as Raph sat on Don's bed and Don sat in his chair, face glued to the computer screen. They'd been submerged in an uncomfortable silence that had nearly caused Raph to go crazy. In fact, he wasn't so sure he _hadn't_ made the dive off the deep end. He had, after all, been staring at the same sentence in his book for half an hour.

"Check what, Donnie?" The uncomfortable silence was caused by what had happened just two days before—Raph's 'love confession'. Since then, they'd tried to act like a couple. Raph started spending time in Don's room; reading a book or asking senseless questions or staring at the ceiling in boredom, if neither worked out. And Don attempted sitting in the living room more often, while Raph watched some senseless violence on the television, but it was obvious when he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his quiet paradise and get back to work. Neither had seemed to realize how hard this "couple" thing would be.

"You know…I mean. I could run a few blood tests." Raph had started to wonder if they really were compatible at all. He had been sure they were, but it always felt like something was holding them back. Stifling them in a blanket of pure awkward. Pure awkward that hugged them both so tightly it had started to affect Leo and Mikey and even Master Splinter, who was none the wiser.

"…Fer what?" Raph wondered if it was the whole 'gay' thing. He wondered how Don felt about it. Surely, he didn't care much. He had, after all, been the one to kiss Raphael. Maybe he was worried Raph minded? _Did_ Raph mind? He hadn't really given it any thought at all. The issue had paled in comparison to his original freak-out about them being brothers.

"To see if we're really blood related." The gears in Raph's head stopped.

"Ta' see…" Raph murmured, and then frowned. "What's that matter any, Don? We're brotha's either way, yeah?"

"Well, yes. We were raised as brothers, so of course. But, I mean…it's obvious that this is bothering you. This whole thing seems so _forced_ and tense. We could do blood tests. If we aren't blood related, we can give this a go. And if we are…well…we can forget about it." Raph thought this over. Stared at Don with mouth slightly agape. He wasn't sure what he was thinking. Wasn't sure what to say in reply. But, luckily, he wasn't one for thinking.

"Whadda we need a test fer? I know yer inta' all that science mumbo jumbo, but what's it gonna prove? If we _are_ related, I'll go back ta' watchin' you an' thinkin' all them stupid what-ifs 'til I go crazy. And if we ain't…" He shook his head. "I don't want that, Donnie. I like bein' yer brother. Leo and Mikey's, too, even though I swear Mike and I couldn't 'a been part 'a the same clutch or whateva'. I don't want that taken away, y'know? What's the humans' morals got anythin' ta' do with us, anyway? If we can't go up there and mingle with 'em, we shouldn't hafta abide by their rules."

"So…no blood test?" There was a small smile on Don's face, but Raph couldn't fathom why.

"No blood test."

Suddenly, the door was opened, and a voice drifted through in a way very reminiscent to two days prior.

"_Ha_! See, Leo? I _knew_ Raphie'd pull through!" Mikey stood in the doorway, wiping at an eye dramatically. Leo was beside him, arms crossed, but a pleased smile on his face.

"…Wha'?"

"You passed the test!" Mikey pranced into the room gleefully, a grin spread across his beak.

"The _what_?" Suddenly, Leo was there, clasping their hands together and nodding solemnly, though the smile was still in place.

"You have permission to date our Donnie," he explained simply.

"_Permission? _So this was some sorta' _trial_?" Raph turned his eyes on Don. "You were in on this?" Don shrugged helplessly, and Mikey pranced over, slinging an arm across his shoulders.

"'Course he was! Donnie's been in on it from the beginning!"

"_Mikey_," Don weakly reprimanded, pushing him away.

"The _beginning_? You _knew_? Before I _said_ somethin'? Fer how long?!"

"I had a pretty strong hypothesis after your second failed attempt at admitting it to me," Don easily replied, the smile on his face weak and seeking forgiveness.

"Why didn't ya' _tell_ me? You could'a saved me all that trouble, an' ya' just stood by and let me make a fool a' myself? Did ya' _like_ seeing me actin' the fool?" His tone rose. His eyes narrowed. His posture screamed danger. And Leo led Mike out the door and left Don alone to face the angry beast that was Raphael. Even in his angry haze, Raph felt that was a little unfair of them, even if he was thankful their argument wouldn't be put on display. Besides, he wasn't done with them, either.

"Raph…" Don sighed.

"I can't believe you, Don! I neva' would'a thought _you'd_ be the one ta'—" he was stopped by hands on his shoulders. A beak pressed up against his.

"Maybe if you'd let me get a word in, I could explain myself," Don pulled away completely, and then sat beside Raph on his own bed, legs crossed and hands splayed on his knees. As if he was meditating. Raph grunted, turned to face him.

"I didn't do it because I thought it was funny," Don gently explained. "At first, it was because I wasn't sure. You were being a little obvious, but I was afraid it was merely…wishful thinking, on my part. I didn't want to put words in your mouth. I was afraid, if I was wrong, the consequences would prove dire. So I did what I thought was logical—I waited for more evidence." Don paused. When Raph didn't speak, he dove right back into his speech. "When you nearly confessed for the third time, I went to talk to Leo about it." Raph looked like he was going to say something, but Don beat him to it. "He didn't give anything away. Only answered my most specific questions. He told me it might be a good idea to figure out a confession of my own, if you were too shy—" Raph grunted, but Don ignored him, "—to do it yourself. Then it came down to getting over my _own_ nerves. I've never been very good with emotion, you know? Logic is my thing, and it was hard to come up with something to say. So I decided to wait until you tried to confess again."

"Then why didn't ya'?"

"You didn't let me get a single word in on the fourth try," Donnie replied with something akin to amusement and fondness tickling his tone. "And when you left I saw Leo confront you, so I figured I'd need to wait again. But just as I was done developing my next game plan, Leo confronted _me_." Raph raised an eye ridge.

"Why'd he need ta' do that?" Don smiled sadly.

"He told me not to tell you."

"Of _course_ it was the Fearless Leader that convinced ya' not ta' say nothin'!" Don raised his hands in a plea for peace.

"Raph, it's not Leo's fault—"

"Like shell it ain't! If it weren't fer him, we could'a avoided all that stupid drama when I _did_ get around ta' confessin'."

"Raph, just hear everything out before you convict him, please. He told me 'Raph's not ready, Donnie. You can't tell him yet.' I was really confused. I thought if you were trying to tell me, you _must_ be ready. But then he told me about his talk with you. He told me what you said…about how you were sick for wanting your brother."

Raph's breath hitched. "Naw, Don, I—" Don ignored him.

"It was upsetting to hear. Even more so when you proved him right by avoiding me the next few weeks. But I thought that I'd listen to Leo. Not just because he's our leader, but because he's proven how right his judgment can be, and I know he'd never mess around with our emotions. So I waited. I got anxious, especially when you started going topside more often, and started avoiding everyone, and then I realized I could be there for you as a _brother_…"

"Only you fell asleep on tha' job. Nice one, Donnie." Don punched his arm lightly.

"It worked, didn't it? After that, you opened back up a little. Enough for me to latch back onto the idea of a confession and run it past Leo."

"So how did _Mikey_ catch on ta' all this?" Don looked embarrassed and rubbed at his neck.

"He overheard us talking about how I was going to get _you_ to confess, to make sure you were 'ready', and he demanded we let him get it all figured out. I was desperate enough to agree, and…shocked it worked as well as it did."

"So this trial was a way fer you guys ta' see if I was still uncomfortable with tha' fact that we're brothers?" Raph crossed his arms and fixed Don with a stare that his brother matched.

"Yes," Don replied. Raph sighed and deflated.

"I guess it makes sense. Sorta'." He twisted his hands in his lap. Played idly with a sai. "Listen, Donnie. M'sorry fer what I said. I should'a known you'd neva' do nothin' like that. I mean…yer not…"

Don placed calming hands over Raph's, and Raph noticed him pulling them apart. Catching on, he slid his arms around Don, and pulled him into an awkward hug that got more and more comfortable the longer they stayed together, instead of the other way around. Raph sighed and leaned into his brother's plastron, content. Until he heard the familiar voice again, this time muffled by a door.

"Think Don's alright in there, Leo? Raph looked pretty P.O.'d, and I can't hear anything anymore!"

"Raph wouldn't hurt Don." That was Leo, the voice of reason.

"You're right," Mikey suddenly replied, sounding strange, "if anything, they're probably keeping each other quiet in much different wa—ow! Leo! It's bad enough that _Donnie_ does it for Raph sometimes, but _you_?" Don let out an amused snort at Raph's neck.

"Guess we should let them know we're alive and virginal." But Don made no move to step away from his hot-tempered brother.

"I dunno, Donnie. For once, I'm not sure I wanna prove Mikey wrong."

And so they stayed in Don's room, until even Mikey moved away from the door, looking slightly pink.


	5. Trepidation

**Trepidation**

**

* * *

  
**

Their enemies hadn't been any more powerful than normal—they'd just been sloppy. Fought like amateurs, Leo had said. Raph wasn't sure how far he agreed with that statement. He was no amateur, broken arm and torn up face or not. But, regardless, Raph could admit to at least part of Leo's long lecture. They really _had_ been sloppy.

It had been a normal patrol. Leonardo had mentioned something about keeping up their practice in the streets, so they'd gone roof hopping in the dead of the night to stretch their limbs and get some air. Raph had been grateful for it: his feelings had been off the scale for a while, and enjoying the late night breeze, even if it was tinged with smoke and soot—or maybe _because_ it was—helped to clear his mind and sooth his spirit in a way meditation had never come close to touching.

Leo and Mikey had taken the lead and left Raph to run alongside Don. He thought they did it on purpose—was sure they did, what with the tiny glances Mikey would give them over his shoulder—but he'd been glad for it, even if Don was a little slow, what with that bag of his bumping and thumping against his thigh. They were less uncomfortable together now—let things flow more naturally, so the run was conducted in a comfortable silence. I'd been nice. Calming. Relaxing. Everything Raph liked about patrols. Well…almost everything.

As if they had been summoned, the Foot had arisen from the shadows, weapons drawn and stances anything but friendly. The four brothers had quickly taken their silent advice, brandishing their own weapons with an air of practiced ease. And thus, Raph's night was complete. There was nothing better than kicking shell to get rid of pent up frustrations and leftover insecurities, after all. At least it was so in Raphael's world.

So they'd fought. Bested the first wave without breaking a sweat. Raph's sais had itched for more, and he'd heard Mikey laughing aloud about how slow the Foot was getting. Didn't they know? He was the Battle Nexus Champion! Raph had rolled his eyes and would have given his brother a righteous smack upside the head if the second wave hadn't come.

So they'd fought. But their victory had lead to confidence. Confidence to cockiness.

We were sloppy, Leo later growled, fists clenched and eyes on all of his brothers. Like he was blaming them. But Raph knew the truth. Leo blamed himself. He was, after all, the first one to be bested. If dishonorably.

Raph thought Leo's scream would be with him for a while. It'd been so sudden. He'd been fighting four Foot at once, and his eyes would dart between them to Mikey and Donnie. He wanted to take over for Mike when he was thrown a few feet back. Wanted to jump the guy who caused Don to stumble. When his own goons were taken care of, Raph almost went to them—to Donnie when he saw Mikey bounce back with nunchakus spinning—but his decision was altered with that shout.

"My eyes! I can't _see_!" Leo had sounded frustrated, with pain laced in his tone, and it had compelled Raphael toward the growing billow of smoke that Leo had been lost in. He had known it probably wasn't a good idea, but Raphael was the hotheaded and brash one for a reason. He couldn't leave his brother defenseless like that.

When he'd entered the area, Raph had expected to be blinded as well. But he hadn't been. All it really did was blur his vision a little annoyingly, but not to the extent it seemed to hurt Leo. He'd thought that perhaps the freak that used it sprayed it right into Leo's eyes. Sure enough, Raph had caught sight of a hunched form on the ground, one green arm in front of useless eyes, the other out and holding a katana threateningly. Raph launched a sai at a goon that had thought it a good idea to approach the downed turtle from behind, and would have moved forward after it, but was stopped by a presence at his own back. He turned in time to spot the katana as it flew down towards his head. In time to raise his remaining sai in some feeble semblance of protection.

Raph felt something hard brush his leg, and then scrape against his shell. Then he was yanked back viciously, away from the katana that had been centimeters from imbedding itself in his skull. He cried out in startled pain when it nicked his face instead. Screwed his eyes shut when he felt the sharp metal trace over his flesh and mask, until the red material broke and fell around him, like blood. The seemingly careless yank knocked him backward, and he had moved his arm to brace himself—only to have his elbow take the brunt of the impact. Cursing like a taxi driver during rush hour, Raph had painfully grasped his arm to his plastron; eyes closed, and had lashed out at whoever had had the nerve to attack him from behind. He'd only met air, however, and Raph had figured his assailant had wised up and left.

The sounds of battle had not diminished, even with Raphael and possibly Leonardo out of the fight. He had tried to open his eyes in vain, and instead fell into the stance he'd last seen Leo wearing, with his weapon held out defensively. He had wondered why he had not been jumped, but Mikey's triumphant whoop somewhere to his right told him all he needed to know.

"These guys're down for the count, Donnie! Trade me!"

Raph had heard the tell-tale sounds of wood clattering to the ground somewhere to his left just moments later, and he could tell who was then beside him, lowering the hand that clenched around his sai and then gently touching at his shoulders. He heard Don's sharp intake of breath. Felt his faint trembling as he traced a finger down Raphael's cheek.

"Oh, shell, Raph…" The voice had been so pained; Raph had dropped his sai and blindly reached out to touch him. To assure him of something. Maybe that he was alive? That he was aware? Whatever the case, Don met him halfway, and held onto his hand tightly for a moment or two. Two tense moments that seemed to last a lifetime. Broken only by Mikey's call of "And once again the day is saved, thanks to the Turtle Titan!" that sounded forced to Raph's ears. Maybe it was.

"Can you stand? We need to get out of this smoke." Raph had nodded to the question, but let Don help him up and loop an arm around him anyway. As they walked, he had attempted blinking his eyes open again, and by the time Don sat him down, he had one opened, flickering this way and that.

"It's still smokin', Donnie," he had informed the turtle beside him, who, he noticed hazily, frowned in reply.

"No, Raph, it isn't." He figured his vision was a little wonky. So he had closed both eyes again and took a few seconds to calm himself before reopening the one he could. Thankfully, his vision had thought it about time to clear. Don's incredibly worried face came into view, and Raph had almost wished his vision hadn't righted itself. He cast a glance over towards Mikey's voice, and found Leo standing beside him, one of Mikey's hands on Leo's shell as their leader blinked his eyes quickly, as if to clear them. Judging by the smile on Mike's face, he was doing a good job of it. They were all okay. But Don hadn't seemed to be acting like it.

"We need to get to the lair." Raph hadn't been sure who said it, but the vote was unanimous. He watched as Don slung his bag over his shoulder and then turned back to him, offering him a hand up.

They were all fairly worse for ware, so their trek back to the sewers had been slow and careful. It took twice as long as it usually might have, but they had eventually arrived at their humble abode in one piece. Amateurs wouldn't have been able to say that.

After they'd gotten home, they'd been herded to the couch by a worried Splinter who spent the most time on Raph, after Leo shook his head and declared himself alright. The martyr. As soon as Splinter was out of his face, Don took up his spot, and had gently placed both hands on Raph's cheeks, turning his face every which way now that he finally had proper light to see the damage. His insides had clenched when he heard another of Don's pitiful murmurs of his name, and he'd forced a painful grin.

"What's tha verdict, doc?" But Don had ignored him, and instead sent Leo and Mikey and Splinter out to fetch various items from his lab, his room, the kitchen. Raph hadn't been quite sure what all the fuss was about. His eye felt swollen shut and his arm hurt like shell, but that really hadn't been much of an issue. Not enough for Don to sound so terrified.

"Donnie."

"Shell, Raph." A hand had touched his arm so gently Raph had hardly even felt it. But he thought that he might have started to lose a bit of feeling in it, anyway.

"Don." But he had been ignored again. Leo had returned, carrying a first aid kit and a few needles. Raph cringed.

His arm had been broken, he'd eventually found out. Well, not his arm. His elbow. Don had called it an "olecranon fracture". He recalled Don telling him about how his elbow pad had taken most of the force, so the fracture wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, though he wasn't sure he had all his facts right. Raph had, after all, only been half listening. It hadn't mattered much to him what was wrong; just as long as he knew how to fix it and how long it would take to be fixed. But he'd quickly started paying attention when Don started to whisper out his apologies.

"What're ya' sorry fer? S'not yer fault or nothin'."

"But it _is_!" Don had insisted. "_I_ pulled you back, and that's how you fell on it in the first place." Then, it'd all clicked. The long, hard object at his back had been Don's bo as he slid it into Raph's belt. The tug had been vicious because Don had, no doubt, been terrified Raph was about to lose his head. The fact that he hadn't stuck around to see to Raph might have been the fact that he had to disarm a katana-wielding ninja that had just tried to kill his brother.

"Shell, Don. That's what yer worried about? If ya' hadn't pulled me like that, it woulda' been my head you'd a' been bandaging up, instead." Don's trembling had come back. Raph had been able to feel it as he, again, brushed fingers over his cheek. He'd been grateful their family had left them alone.

"So what's this?" Don had asked, voice above a whisper as he gently fingered the bandage over Raph's eye.

"S'nothin' serious. Ya' said so yerself. Didn't get ta the actual eye, so it's no problem."

"But it _could_ have, Raph! You have no idea how close you came to losing your eye today. If I'd pulled a little less, that blade would have gone a little deeper. Just a little and it would be gone." Shell, had he sounded terrified.

"And I could'a lost my _head_ today, too, Donnie. If ya' hadn't pulled at all. But I didn't lose my head or my eye, so what's the problem?" Don had looked so close to telling him, but then Splinter had entered the room, and whatever words he had begun to say had died on his tongue as soon as his hands were moved away from his injured brother.

Raph had fallen asleep in Don's room that night—his own "bed" proving too dangerous to sleep in, and, upon waking in the middle of the night for reasons unknown, discovered Don himself to be gone. Raph had figured Splinter sent him to bed himself, and he tried to dismiss it and go back to sleep, but something had nagged at him until he forced himself carefully out of bed and out the door.

The Lair was quiet, only the sounds of breathing could be heard from the hall. But when he passed by his own room, he thought he heard a sudden cry and muffled thud from inside. Confused, and slightly wary, he'd quickly entered, and was greeted by Don's thrashing form on the floor. The hammock was swinging precariously, and Don was a mess of limbs and blanket beneath it, as if he'd fallen out of it.

"Hey, Don, you okay?" There was an undertone of amusement in his voice that he tried, and failed, to hide as he stepped closer. The faint smile on his face was quickly killed, however, with Don's reply, which consisted of Donatello arching his back as much as was physically possible around a shell and plastron—which admittedly was hardly impressive—his arms flailing, as if to either grab or hit something just beyond reach.

_"__No_! No, no, Mmmiikey! L-leooo, no! Raph! _Raph_! No, no! _Please_, I—! No!"

The reaction surprised Raph, and he was quickly propelled forward again by a sinking fear in his gut. He'd knelt by the flailing turtle and placed his good hand on Don's arm.

"Donnie! C'mon, Don, wake up!" Don's eyes flew open, and he promptly punched Raphael in the face.

"_Shell_!" Raph bit his lip to keep from spilling any more profanity, and moved his hand from Don to cradle his jaw.

"R-Raph?" Don's voice was tired: weak and confused.

"Jeez, Don! Neva' let me diss yer punches again. That _hurt_."

"Shell, Raph, I'm sorry." Don placed his shaking hands on Raph's cheeks and sat up as he tilted his brother's face down, until Raphael was brought eye-level with him. Until he could see the tears stinging Donnie's eyes.

"Ya' hardly touched me, Donnie. No need ta cry." But Don shook his head miserably and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes clenched tightly and his shoulders shaking. Raph wrapped his good arm around Don's neck. Pretended not to feel any pain when Don clutched him close to his shuddering plastron. Then he turned his head and kissed him. It was simple. Innocent. Like most of the other kisses he and Don had shared since the Love Confession two weeks before. But instead of calming Don, it made him even more desperate, and he turned the kiss into something far less innocent. All tongue and teeth.

Raph let Don ravage his mouth for a while, and then pulled away, pushing at Don's plastron with his good hand, to get his message across.

"Come ta bed, Donnie. Tha floor ain't comfy." And so they'd lain on Don's bed, with Raph hidden in a pile of pillows and blankets when Don had remembered his hurt elbow. But Raph pushed most aside and pulled Don closer instead; keeping his good arm around him and grunting until Don hesitantly returned the gesture.

"Wanna talk about it?" He'd asked when he could tell Don had no plans of sleep.

"Yes," Don had breathed, "but you should sleep. You need it."

"I'll be able ta sleep all week. S'not like Big Brother Leo'll let me lift a finger fer days." Raph rolled his eyes as he spoke, though Don couldn't see him.

"Neither will Doctor Donnie," Don murmured back. Feeling mischievous, Raph grinned in reply.

"Does Docta' Donnie like ta _play_ Doctor?" Don's snort of amusement was weak, but there, and calmed Raph's nerves.

"Only when he has a certain turtle to play his patient," Don had teased back.

"Who?" Raph asked, "Mikey?"

"He _is_ pretty good with his mouth."

"Least it ain't Leo. Don't think I could'a fergived that one." Don pressed closer, shrugging slightly.

_"__He's_ good with his _hands_."

"What'm_ I_ good with?" Raph found himself playing along. Closed his eyes.

"Other than your fists?" Raph snorted. Opened his eyes to give Don a look.

"Yeah, Donnie. Other'n that."

"You'll think it's cheesy." Don sounded almost bashful.

"S'okay if it's you, Donnie. Mike, not so much."

"Your heart, then."

"M'good with my heart?"

"Yeah." Raph went quiet for a moment or so.

"That _is_ cheesy."

"Yeah, I know." And then Don went quiet again. Raph gently ran fingers along whatever skin he could reach.

"I ain't goin' ta bed yet," he informed his brother.

"You should."

"I will. Afta' ya' talk." Donnie sighed and pressed closer to Raphael. Curled his fingers in a blanket he'd wrapped around his larger brother. Wrapped them up in a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable, merely there.

"Do you remember when the Ultimate Draco came to the Lair?" Don's voice was quiet; whispered and hushed, as if he himself did not want to hear what he had to say.

"Like I could ferget that." Raph rubbed a hand down Don's exposed shell.

"I didn't tell you guys much about where I went."

"Yeah," Raph agreed, "jus' that it was some doomsday future where tha Shredda' took control." He hesitated. "What about it?"

Don went on, "I already told you that I had disappeared in that time. And that we defeated the Shredder. Together. But…I never told you about what I sacrificed to do it." Raph urged him on with a nudge when Donnie slipped back into silence.

"Your lives." Raph froze, and shifted to regard his brother.

"Whadda ya' mean, Donnie?" Don sighed in reply. Pressed close.

"I sacrificed you. Mikey. Leo. You all died because of my _idiotic_ suicide mission!" The brainy turtle's voice raised slightly in anger.

"Donnie—"

"Mikey was first. I guess only having one arm put him at a major disadvantage. The Karai legion bots ganged up on him." Don took a shuddery breath before continuing. "His last words…he was calling out to me. He was _yelling_ out for me, Raph. For _me_. When I delivered him and—and Leo and you to the Shredder himself. When I didn't go to him; couldn't save him. He called for help—_my_ help, and no one could help him. I couldn't—didn't help him."

Don lapsed back into silence. Raph continued to rub his shell. He wanted to say so many things, but he couldn't. Not until Don was done talking. He didn't want Donnie to push him out again because of a wrong word. Luckily for him, Don went on without further prompting.

"Leo…Leo was next. He had a disadvantage, too. And it wasn't his lack of sight. It was his…his fucking _compassion_ for that witch Karai. He turned his back to her. Hesitated to kill her. And that was the end of him." Don laughed bitterly. "It was painfully ironic."

"Donnie." Raph said nothing more, but his voice alone seemed to snap Don out of whatever spell he'd been trapped in, and he nuzzled closer.

"Leo didn't say anything before he went. But Raph—you…the…the Raph in that time. He saw it. He freaked out. Tried to kill Karai himself. But he was fueled by anger, and was blinded. Karai got in lucky blows." Don's arms around Raph tightened almost painfully.

"He—you…died while trying to get to Leo. You…you got to him. Said his name. And—and died. And where was I when all of this was happening? When all of my brothers were being slain without honor and without compassion? I was getting my shell kicked by the Shredder. But…I should have been there to help you and Leo and Mikey. I should have helped my brothers! I never should have put you guys in danger like that in the first place. But…I felt responsible for that world. For everything that happened. And, to fix that, I instead made myself responsible for the deaths of my brothers."

Raph sat up. Pulled at Don's arm until he followed suit and allowed Raph to wrap him up protectively against his plastron. Until Don allowed Raph to shield him from the nightmares that plagued him. Raph didn't speak. Waited for Don, to make sure he was really done before Raph spoke his own mind. But, instead of talking, Don pulled away enough to cup Raph's cheeks. To stare into his uncovered eye. To gently finger the bandage covering the one he'd hurt.

"In that future…this eye is gone," Don whispered. "I don't want to go anywhere near that fate, Raph. If…if I hadn't pulled as hard. If I hadn't…you might be missing it, too. I can't let that future be realized. You…you can't lose this eye. Mikey can't lose his arm. Leo…not his sight." Raph was reminded of Leo's loud cry of how he couldn't see, and he wondered how Don must have felt when he saw Leo covering his eyes and Raph with blood pouring from his. The thought made him tighten his hold on the other turtle.

"And I," Don went on, "I can't disappear. I've tried to pin my disappearance down to Draco transporting me to the future that time. But…how can I be sure? I've always been such a weak link in our chain. I make such silly mistakes all the time."

"Like what?" Raph suddenly pushed in, unable to hold back any longer. He looked at Don evenly.

"Like…like being captured by Triceratons. Like almost giving away Professor Honeycutt's location to them. Like telling them _how_ to find him. Like losing my concentration during practice and battles. Like when my ideas blow up in our faces. Like…like letting you die—" Raph cut him off with another kiss that left them both breathless. Raph pulled away after a little while, panting.

"Don't even start, Donnie. Yer one'a tha only ones that got good ideas. You'n Leo. Ya' really think yer tha only one that makes mistakes? We all do—especially Mikey. We jus' get up an' get ova' it. Yer too hard on yerself, Donnie. Always. Ya' didn't give away tha Professa', even when those Tricerafreaks had yer mind hooked up ta that probe-lookin' helmet. Ya' figured out how to save 'im after ya' 'gave away how ta' find 'im'. Which, I gotta say, ya' needed ta do ta get 'em offa Earth." Raph paused to stroke his chin. "What came afta' that? Oh, right. Ya' lose concentration sometimes, yeah, but that's why I got yer back. Ya' can't know everythin', Donnie, and you ain't gotta. S'why you got me an' Mikey an' Leo an' Masta' Splinta' an' Case' an' April. An' besides, yer always comin' up with stuff ta help us all out. Even if it don't always work, it's better'n anything _anyone_ else could'a done. Yer only one turtle, Donnie-boy." Raph paused again. Sighed.

"And…you didn'tlet us die. Ya' won't disappear. We won't hafta live in that future, Don. We won't. An' we didn't follow ya' blindly. If that guy in tha future with my name's anythin' like me, then I know he went along knowin' things might not'a worked. He knew there would'a been even less of a chance if it wasn't you that came up with the plan. Ya' don't give yourself enough credit, Don. If it weren't fer you, the Shredder would'a lived, and that world would'a never got rid of 'im." Raph's tone suddenly went angry.

"An' I ain't gonna let you keep dissin' tha turtle that's always got my back. 'Cause he deserves better'n that."

Don sucked in a shuddery breath. Let it out as a choked sob.

"Raph…" Raphael grunted in reply. Pulled Don close to hide the embarrassment filling his eyes at spilling so much emotional mush. But Don nudged closer on his own and kissed Raph's neck.

"You're too good to me."

"Ah-ah," Raph chastised, "'member what I said 'bout talkin' nice 'bout my turtle?"

Don choked on a laugh.

"I love you, Raph."

"Yeah, I love ya', too, Brainiac. Now, c'mon, if we ain't asleep 'fore Leo comes ta check on us, our ears'll be lectured off.

Later, when Leo came in, he couldn't tell who was curled around whom. Or who looked more content. At least, that's what Raph heard Leo mentioned offhandedly to April one day. Before stalking off, muttering about gossiping girls and silently thanking his inability to turn red in embarrassment.


	6. Prerequisite

**Prerequisite**

* * *

They came to him with heads lowered in respect. With hands pressed at their sides—or, at least it was so in Donatello's case; Raphael's splint kept one arm still and stationary. Came to him and left two brothers attempting to keep quiet on the other side of his door. Attempting being the key word. Before his sons had begun their needed talk, Splinter had thought idly that Leonardo and Michelangelo needed to practice their stealth—or, rather, Michelangelo. Though Leonardo's faint whispered hushes and lowered pleas for quiet could have been much less noticeable. However, all idle thought was abruptly stilled as soon as his sons clad in red and purple spoke. When they spoke, Splinter seemed to stop thinking about much else at all.

"Master Splinter…"

"We're togetha'."

"—romantically."

"An' we want yer blessing."

They were sent away without blessing and love. But also without contempt and hate. Instead, Splinter had quietly regarded them.

"You are positive of these feelings?"

"Yes, sensei."

And then sent them away.

"I will need time to think on this matter. Please, my sons. Leave me."

And so they had, obediently. With heads lowered—that time, perhaps not in respect, but something heavier. Splinter was unsure of exactly what. But he _was_ sure he saw Donatello touch Raphael's arm as they left, and he was suddenly aware of what such an action might mean. His sons had really come to him seeking permission and approval to engage in a relationship. With each other. It was something he, in all his meditation sessions and moments where his mind went wild with possibilities, had never considered—never prepared for. That fact alone had made the subject touchy: he was not one for surprises. And the surprise itself…what was he to think of it? Splinter felt the cold coil of regret in his gut at having caused his sons unease, but he had not trusted his tongue. Such a matter was to be touched upon gently, not impulsively. And most of his reactions had been sudden and brash: impulsive.

The rat part of him: the animalistic instinct, had not minded. Animals hardly had the strict morals that humans did, and would easily engage in both incest and homosexuality. Both at once was less common, but not completely unheard of.

But the more human side of him was repulsed by the idea. He had grown up in a strict Japan, and had not been subjected to thoughts of humans conducting either taboo. Once he had come to New York, all he had to go by were biased television programs and overheard conversation, neither of which favored the idea his sons had planted in his head.

He knew he had to remember; his sons were not human. But hadn't he raised them as humans? Did their animal nature put them just out of reach of the human morals, or did their upbringing force them into the humans' chains? That, Splinter supposed, was his decision. And it was a decision—a burden—he did not wish upon himself. His sons' happiness should not have rested in Splinter's hands. But it did. He should not have hesitated to grant them happiness.

But he did.

Did that make him an unworthy master? Or, worse yet, an unfit father? The thought left an unfavorable taste in his mouth.

"I must seek guidance," he said aloud to no one, "to be sure my words hold wisdom and lack bias." And then, he took Yoshi's orb into his hands and sat down to meditate.

Yoshi regarded Splinter with a smile and a bow—and Splinter returned the gesture in kind. Then he began.

"Master Yoshi, I am faced with a difficult decision. I fear this trial of my character will prove to speak only poor things, and I am yet unaware of which choice will realize this fear. Master Yoshi, I seek your guidance. I fear my choice will hurt my sons, and this is not acceptable. However, I am unsure of which decision will cause the most damage. Sensei, in this troubling matter, do I follow my mind or my heart?"

Yoshi answered with a smile and nothing more. Splinter had not expected anything else. So he continued.

"I have taught my sons many things. I have taught them ninjutsu for protection. Honor for purpose. Family for acceptance. But have I taught them what is required for happiness? I had thought so. But now I am left unsure. I had wanted their bonds to grow; the world above is an unforgiving place. But have they grown too readily?" Splinter sighed.

"They cannot find the love Mr. Jones and Ms. O'Neil have found—at least I had not thought so—and I wonder if this 'love' Donatello and Raphael have discovered is merely born of necessity. My sons are the only of their kind. They have no hope of finding a life partner—female or otherwise. So should I encourage this coupling or urge them to leave it be?"

Yoshi nodded unhelpfully.

"I love my sons unconditionally," Splinter went on, "I want, above all things, for them to be happy. But I am afraid of what romance might do to the family bonds I have taught them. I have learned these things from watching you and Mashimi fight for a common love. Romantic love can cause rifts. Jealousy can form. Ill will can fester. And if my sons decide their love is not as it seems, will their brotherhood be strained? I have taught them the principles of family. If my sons lose platonic ties along with their romance, I fear what damage will be done." The rat sighed. "But who am I to define how they are allowed to love?"

Splinter felt old: weak and heavy beneath the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. Yoshi placed his hand upon the burdened shoulder, but instead of adding to the weight, his touch lifted all, including Splinter's head as he tipped it to gaze into his Master's eyes. Then, the human put a hand over his heart, and smiled. Splinter let out a breath, and nodded back, smiling faintly.

He should follow his heart. He could do that.

Splinter called Raphael and Donatello back into his room later that night, and kept his back to them, lighting incense, as they gathered before him, green knees pressed down on the floor respectfully. He took a breath and gathered himself, praying that his decision was the right one. That he was not leading his sons down a dark path. Then he turned to face them and smiled. Gave them words of blessing and of love, and hoped they would spread them. Together.


End file.
